The Staff of the Winds (The Wizard of South Corner Book 1) by William Meighan

great-cat’s dinner.
    Slowly, the boys began to edge to their left, away from the mouth of the cave.  “Stay behind me,” Owen said, as he started to weave his staff before him, building momentum and hoping to confuse or intimidate the angry cat. “And don’t use your bows,” he added quickly when he saw Aaron fit an arrow, “you’ll just wound her and make things worse.”
    They had covered about three long strides, when the great-cat suddenly sprang forward in a rush. Owen braced himself, and at the last moment he struck as hard as he could to the side of the head of the leaping cat and pivoted away. The sleek animal managed to rake Owen’s left forearm with her sharp claws as she went by. She landed heavily, but quickly rolled to her feet snarling. Using the opportunity, the boys backed quickly towards the far side of the clearing. The cat advanced more cautiously, as Owen went back into his weave. He was shaken, but with the adrenalin streaming through his veins did not feel the pain of the gash in his arm.  By now, Aaron and Jack had slung their bows, pulled out their slings, and were throwing stones with as much energy as they could at the sensitive snout of the advancing animal.
    When the boys managed to back to the far side of the clearing, without a further attack, the cat shook its head in response to a particularly effective stone, gave a last low warning growl, and ran quickly back to her den to check on her cubs. Owen, Jack and Aaron took the opportunity to turn and run as fast as they could into the woods and down the hill.  It was some time before they gained sufficient self-control to slow their mad scramble to a quick but more cautious pace.  More like the cat than like the deer, Owen had chastised himself.
    Once they were clear of the trees, behind Jack’s back pasture, Jack noticed the blood running down Owen’s arm and dripping off of his fingertips. “Geez, she really got you good,” Jack exclaimed to Owen. “You’d better let me clean that up a bit for you before you go home.”
    The boys stopped at the pump in the yard where Jack peeled back Owen’s tattered left sleeve and whistled his amazement as he revealed four long parallel slashes running diagonally down Owen’s forearm. “Do you want my mother to look at that for you?”
    “No,” Owen responded, “it cleaned itself out pretty good with all that blood so I don’t think it’ll get infected. Just rinse it off good and bind it up tight for me. My mom will do the needlework if it needs it. Wish I didn’t have to tell my folks what we got ourselves into today, but there’s no way I can explain this shirt.”
    “Explain it,” Aaron exclaimed. “What are you talking about? This is the greatest adventure that any kid in South Corner has ever had. We’ll be heroes!”
    “Maybe so,” Owen responded, wincing while Jack bound up his arm with a piece of cloth, “but I don’t think my dad is going to see it that way, and I’ll bet Jack’s won’t either.”
    They had been heroes at school that week, Jack remembered. The long deep slashes beginning to form permanent scars on Owen’s arm had been more than adequate proof of their adventure. Each of them had also been thoroughly thrashed by their fathers, but that had been nothing compared to the memory of the close call that they had had with that cat. They didn’t admit it to their friends, but they had all had nightmares about the charge of that great snarling beast for many nights to come.
    Jack remembered that experience now as he chose a good spot for first watch.  Several times since that harrowing adventure, when faced by some intimidating or fearsome task, Jack had called forth the memory and told himself, “but this is not as bad as facing a great-cat.”  He’d never faced a gorn before, but he hoped that old expression still applied.
     

    Owen watched Jack take his position in a concealed spot that gave him good visibility of the campsite and surrounding